A Christmas Carol
by Padawan AngelinaDaisey
Summary: I know, I know. It's after Christmas but still, I want to finish this for you all... consider it a late present. Charles Dickens' A Chrismas Carol, with characters from LOTR. Intrigued? Read on! Post RotK AU, slight L/A slash (finally!). XXX
1. Flint

Hello to you all here on Fanfiction.net! In honor of the fact that it is (finally) advent I have allowed the plot bunny that has been biting me since summer to attack the keyboard, with these results. It is 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens, but with the characters from LotR. Are you intrigued? I hope you are- it isn't that bad, really.  
  
I realize that the people in this fic are entirely OOC, but I had to change them a bit to fit the plot. After all, Middle-Earth did not have a Christmas (A Yule, granted, but.). If you'll ignore the glaring inconsistencies then you may enjoy it for what it is.  
  
I also realize it is the ultimate sacrilege to mess with the characters, plots and settings from these wonderful works of art but yet, when the plot bunny bites I am helpless than to get a Band-Aid. Merry Christmas to you all, I hope all your dreams come true in 2003 and forever more.  
  
A Christmas Carol  
  
Chapter 1: Stone  
  
+_+_+_+_  
  
In the Bleak Midwinter  
  
Frosty winds made moan.  
  
Earth stood, hard as iron,  
  
Water like a stone.  
  
Snow had fallen, snow on snow.  
  
Snow on Snow.  
  
In the Bleak Midwinter,  
  
Long ago.  
  
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)  
  
+_+_+_+_  
  
The Steward of Gondor was dead to begin with. There is no doubt about that- his funeral pyre had licked the sky with admirable impatience as the flames had destroyed the body of the man who was universally known as having the icy flow of madness through his veins. Elessar had witnessed the aftermath, though he did not care for it much.  
  
Old Denethor was as dead as a doornail.  
  
King Elessar knew he was dead? Of course he did- after all, his death signaled the end of the Stewardship of Gondor, leaving the path open to Aragorn to claim his rightful throne.  
  
Once again, I remind you that Denethor was dead and scattered on the wind. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate. Once the great battle had ended and Sauron had been defeated Aragorn had sat on the throne, victorious, noble and just. He had been loved by the men of Gondor as their long awaited ruler. Aragorn had been an admirable man- he was exceedingly handsome and fiercely intelligent, holding elvish grace and mortal determination in the same skin. His beautiful wife had been the envy of the entire White City- a vision to those who had seen her and a legend to those who hadn't.  
  
And that was the point it all went horribly wrong.  
  
It had seemed that Her Majesty's elvish blood had sung for more than she could bear, despite the mortal state she resided in, and the call of the sea had sung to her mind daily. It was with a heavy heart that she left the King, creeping away on a snow-white steed in the dead of night, witnessed only by the Prince of Mirkwood whom she swore to secrecy.  
  
Once the King awoke to discover her absence his entire demeanor changed all but instantly. The beloved king, Elessar of the line of Valandil, became bitter and twisted. His fine features and Inner Light dimmed, his shoulders stooped and his greed grew. Oh! But he was a tight- fisted hand at the grindstone, Elessar. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! He became secret and self- contained, hard and sharp as a flint.  
  
Every man, woman and child felt his sudden greed and anger, from Min- Rimmon to Pinnath Gelin. The country suffered and fell into poverty due to the extortionate taxes set by Elessar. There seemed no way out.  
  
During this time Legolas, the same Prince of Mirkwood that had been sworn to secrecy by Arwen, had been requested to work in Elessar's offices and had agreed, his guilt at the knowledge of Arwen's leaving, his loyalty to the man the king had been and his hope of seeing that man again overriding all other feelings. His ability as a negotiator had elevated him through the ranks, earning the trust, respect and (although it was closely guarded) love of the other workers.  
  
This led him to the position he was currently in, standing at the open door to King Elessar's main chambers with the other workers hovering hopefully behind him and the king purposely refusing to acknowledge his presence. The King was sat low in an ornate chair, cold and unfeeling steel- grey eyes fixed in the roaring flames of a fire in the hearth of the large room, his back to Legolas.  
  
The elf cleared his throat nervously and crept forward. Still, the King refused to look at him.  
  
"If you will excuse me Sire, I wish to speak to you," he ventured. "As you know, it is December the twenty fifth tomorrow . . ."  
  
"And?" Elessar snapped, eyes still fixed of the roaring flames.  
  
"And," Legolas continued, albeit slower than before, "we were hoping that it might be considered that we may have the day as a day of celebration, my Liege. What say you?"  
  
"I say it is a poor excuse to pick a man's pockets every December Twenty fifth." Disappointed sighs sounded quietly from the other workers before they were silenced in fear.  
  
"If you please, sir, business will be slow for the day and it would do you better to save your workers for the day after," Legolas pressed hopefully. Elessar's eyes finally raised to meet the Elf's, razor sharp and as inimical as the coldest points of the mountains.  
  
"And what say you, Elf?" King Elessar questioned, his voice low and dangerous. Legolas held his gaze.  
  
"It would be appreciated, Sir"  
  
The King sighed and resumed his study of the flames. "Just make sure you're here all the earlier the next morning." The workers looked to each other, surprised delight lighting their features. Scurrying out, they made to finish up for the night, leaving Legolas in the room with the King.  
  
"Thank you," he murmured before spinning on his heel and slipping out, braids flying round his head and feet making not a sound on the oak floor. The King's answering scowl was cold enough to dim the fire.  
  
+++++++++++  
  
To Be Continued. 


	2. Ice

Second Chapter up! Thank you to my reviewers, I love you all! Mwah!  
  
kaneen : Thank you, here's the second chapter. I hope you like it! Dragonlet: Thanks! Is it really that funny? I was aiming for angst, but what the hey! Hilarity's good too! I like your pen-name, by the way. Showndra Ridge: Consider my pot bunny patted. Thank you, and I hope you like.  
  
Dedicated to Rupi. She knows why.  
  
A Christmas Carol Chapter 2: Shadow  
  
+_+_+_+_  
  
'Twas in the moon of winter time,  
  
When all the birds had fled,  
  
That Mighty Gitchi Manitou sent angel choirs instead;  
  
Before their light the stars grew dim and wondering hunters heard the hymn:  
  
Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,  
  
In excelsis gloria.  
  
Jean de Brébeuf (1593-1649) +_+_+_+_  
  
As soon as the Elf had swiftly exited the room, Elessar had extinguished the blaze in the hearth, though it served no true purpose. No heat went any way to melting the impenetrable ice fortress that had built up around his once kindly heart and soul. Keeping the roaring, if redundant, heat blazing was nothing but a waste of valuable fuel- an expense he could spare gladly. Barely noticing the room had been suddenly plunged into darkness he slimed his way out the room and down the bleakly and sparsely decorated corridor to his bedchambers, a hunch in his shoulders and a sneer on his face.  
  
It was now that he paused of the doors and made to push them open, lifting one scarred and war-roughened hand to apply pressure to the large knocker in the centre of the door, when he perceived a change. Peering closer at the knocker he witnessed a change occurring- once the White Tree of Gondor was proud in the strong in the middle but now it shifted, morphed, into another visage.  
  
Denethor's face.  
  
He was just as Aragorn recalled- his cheeks gaunt and grey, his eyes wide and staring out (even they held no movement of any type) at Aragorn who stumbled back in sudden horror. The face gave off a dull glow of its own for barely a moment before Aragorn looked again numbly.  
  
And once again it was but a simple door knocker- no differences of any kind.  
  
To say that Elessar did not feel any fear at this point would be untrue, for his blood flowed with a momentary chill, but that passed and he scowled at the knocker.  
  
"Humbug," he hissed before shouldering his way in and lighting a small candle. Now, you must understand that usually the King cared not a button for the darkness. Dark was cheep and he liked it, but on this night he felt the urge to sweep the rooms that made up his bedchambers and for that, light was required.  
  
Everything was as it should be- think blankets spread across his bed, desk with accountancy notes in one corner, heavy curtains blocking all light during daylight hours drawn severely. Nothing was amiss. Frustrated at his own mind for playing such a trick on him he sat himself down heavily in a chair and began to brood miserably. It was after several minutes he let his eyes wander around his room, his gaze finally falling on the mantle piece across the room, over a disused fireplace.  
  
There was very little on that mantle piece. Scrolls of writing were scattered across the narrow surface, collecting dust like a brightly colored flower collects bees in summer (a time of year the King despised). A quill and a dried well of ink also sat as did a small blue leather bound book, on which stood a small metal bell. The bell had once belonged to Arwen as a gift from a very young dwarf friend of Legolas' (and how the King despised that damned fair Elf!) and the King simply had not removed it, despite the passage of years and now a thick film of grime marred the smooth, shiny surface. As he watched, the bell lifted a few bare mllimetres and began to tremble. These vibrations grew and grew until the small bell was ringing clearly, a sound created by an unseen hand. Joining it, every other bell in the King's bedchambers also lifted and began its own relentless tolling.  
  
This cacophony lasted but a half minute, but to Elessar, who was stuck in the middle, it seemed much longer. Then, with a sudden halt every bell stopped, leaving the room in silence. Then, another sound.  
  
Dragging, heavy and pained. Dragging, dragging, dragging. The steady scrape and thud grew louder and louder until it was discernable that it came from behind Elessar, who spun to meet this evil.  
  
"It's Humbug still," he murmured to himself. "I will not believe it." Gradually, Denethor's image pulled itself in, hands still wrapped around the Palantir he had clutched in death. His image remained the same- his translucency was the only point that indicated any difference. That and the way every limb on Denethor's body looked to be made out of lead making the man stoop even more than he had done in life.  
  
"Who are you?" Elessar whispered, refusing to believe his eyes. He reached for the sword at his hip, only to be stopped by a horse, dry cackle ripped from a dead throat.  
  
"It may be more imprudent to ask who I was," the ghostly image croaked painfully, shifting and revealing a heavy chain that lay about his neck and round his waist, shackling his wrists and ankles.  
  
"So, who were you?" Elessar demanded angrily, hand resting against the hilt of the blade but not retracting it any further.  
  
"In life I was Denethor, Steward of Gondor."  
  
"Humbug, I say! Humbug!" Aragorn cried in return. In anger, the spirit lifted its chains and shook them at the man, a soul-shattering wail ripping from his throat. The dismal clanking reverberated in the King's ears.  
  
"I speak the truth- I wear chains I forged in life by my actions to this land and I come to warn you," the spirit cried at the wary man. "You must change your ways!"  
  
"I do not believe you."  
  
"You must!" Denethor's spirit cried frantically. "I walk forever with these chains for my actions, but you can still change. You must change!" Wariness evaporating, Elessar released his sword and eyes the spirit who clutched at the Palantir in his hands with desperation. "You will be haunted by three ghosts tonight, Aragorn," the spirit informed with a mournful wail. "The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five." The pale translucency became thinner as Denethor began to fade.  
  
"Couldn't I just have them all at the same time and get it all over and done with?" the King cried frantically, reaching out a hand to grasp at Denethor. The spirit moved away.  
  
"The first will arrive at one, the second at three and the last at five," the ghost repeated, the clank of chains sounding as he shifted, his visage barely discernable now.  
  
With that, the ghost was gone.  
  
Shocked and a little disorientated, the King backed up, the back of his knees coming into contact with the edge of his bed. Still clothed, a wave of fatigue washed over him and he collapsed back, sleep claiming him instantly.  
  
And the clocked ticked slowly on . . .  
  
++++++++++++++++++++++  
  
To be continued. 


	3. Past

As it says in the Summary, sure it's after Christmas, but I feel compelled to finish this for my wonderful reviewers. Hence, Third chapter, enter Stage Left the ghost of Christmas Past. (wooooooo!)  
  
Niphredil87: Thank you. I love both A Christmas Carol as a book and the literary, original version of LotR and I'm glad it shows. I apologise for any discrepancies in my version of the two ( waterfall2014: Thank you! What do you think of the entire 'Christmas Stories' book? Dickens is such a powerful writer, isn't he?  
  
Without further ado,  
  
Chapter 3: Past  
  
+_+_+_+_+  
  
Yet with the woes of sin and strife  
  
The World has suffered long;  
  
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled  
  
Two thousand years of wrong;  
  
And man at war with man hears not  
  
The love song which they bring:  
  
O hush the noise ye men of strife  
  
And hear the angels sing!  
  
E.H Sears  
  
+_+_+_+_+  
  
The chiming of a single bell awoke Elessar from his deep slumber and he immediately sat bolt upright in his bed, eyes darting about him in wariness. Finding nothing amiss he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated at his own over active imagination. He collapsed back onto the bedclothes with a groan.  
  
"Bah Humbug," he moaned quietly to himself, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to return to sleep. So focused was he that he did not notice a faint glow materialize in the corner of the chambers and grow, brighter and bigger until it enveloped all around him. Finally noticing the brightness from all around him through his eyelids he snapped his eyes open and was met by a brilliant, blinding white light that burned his eyes with its purity.  
  
The glow seemed to suddenly implode, or at least gather itself in, for in a flash of light it became solid and presented the figure of someone Elessar knew oh so very well.  
  
"Gandalf?" he murmured in wonder. "Is it you? Pray tell your state, it has been many years since we last conversed."  
  
"It is not Gandalf," the figure replied. "I am simply residing in this form for present so we may speak."  
  
Elessar looked troubled. "Are you the spirit, Sir, whose coming was foretold to me?" he asked, barely believing his own words.  
  
"I am."  
  
"Who and what are you?" Elessar demanded, rising from his seated position to his feet, facing the ethereal presence.  
  
"I am the ghost of Christmas Past."  
  
"Far past?" Elessar questioned, his eyes searching.  
  
"No. Your past," the ghost in Gandalf's form replied. "I have come to remind you what has passed before." The spirit motioned with a nod of its head to the window. "Walk with me."  
  
"I beg you spirit, I am mortal and liable to fall."  
  
"A touch of my hand and you shall be upheld in more than this!" the spirit cried and passed its hand over Elessar's. At the touch, the King found himself transported to a place he knew very well.  
  
"Rivendell," he breathed. "I was a boy here!" With that he looked about himself in wonder at the beautiful city of Imaldris, a place he had not seen in years. Drinking in every sight he nearly missed the flash of dark hair that fled past him, followed by two laughing elves.  
  
"You shall not catch me!" the boy attached the mop of hair cried in merriment, "I will not allow it!" The two elves following laughed even more and succeeded in doing so, grabbing the boy and reducing him to a writhing puddle of curls and legs under their tickling fingers. "Elladan! Elrohir! Stop it, both of you!" could be heard at random intervals between shrieked giggles.  
  
"Do you recognise that boy?" the spirit asked, casting Gandalf's gaze on Elessar.  
  
"Recognise him?" Elessar replied, staring at the two elves at the boy. "Recognise him? Of course I recognise him." He looked back at the spirit. "It is me." A fond look passed over his features as he saw his young self slip from his foster brother's grasps and away into the gardens. Suddenly his countenance hardened again and he dismissed the scene with a flick of one wrist. "But it is naught but a memory. I am far different now."  
  
"That is true," the spirit agreed. Ignoring Elessar's glare he smiled. "Let us see another Christmas in this place."  
  
With that the scene changed to Elessar's chambers within Rivendell many years later at the beginning of the quest to destroy the ring. In front of him stood his bed, replete with verdant bedsheets and one elf, sitting crossed legged on the coverlet, playing with a pillow absent mindedly, listening to what another in the room was saying. Elessar's frown became a sneer.  
  
Legolas Greenleaf.  
  
"You remember this day?" the spirit prompted watching Elessar's cold eyes fix on the golden beauty seated on the bed.  
  
"Of course. You think my memory short, surely. This was the day the fellowship of nine set out from Rivendell to destroy the ring." As he spoke these words another figure appeared in the room and walked over to Legolas, speaking something, which made the blonde elf smile sweetly.  
  
The spirit waved Gandalf's hand and suddenly the speech of the two figures in the room could be heard, that of Legolas' smooth, even voice and Aragorn's own low tenor, conversing together.  
  
" Indeed," Legolas began in a teasing voice, "It is said that you and Lady Arwen has a secret council together in the moonlight last night." As Elessar watched, his younger self looked back at Legolas.  
  
"It is true," he replied evenly. "We did." Aragorn then turned and picked up his sword, inspecting its blade with a critical eye.  
  
"And?" Legolas pressed eagerly, although to an observer such as the spirit or Elessar it seemed that his words were laced with apprehension. Oblivious, the younger Aragorn turned and lowered his sword.  
  
"I must tell you, my friend. She has offered me her immortality." Legolas stifled an obvious gasp with a pale, slender hand.  
  
"And?" he repeated, dread underlying the almost whisper.  
  
"I accepted, Legolas. I am to be wed to the Lady Arwen as soon as I take the throne of Gondor," Aragorn cried, jubilant. "Is that not wonderful news? See, I wear her Evenstar."  
  
Legolas looked positively shocked for the briefest of moments before schooling his expression. "It is, indeed, most happy news for you dear friend," he murmured before Aragorn turned his back to Legolas once again. The elf's obviously heart broken expression was cast upon his back before he slid to his feet, all fluid grace. He slipped to the door and paused, looking back at Aragorn.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Estel. I will see you at the gates presently," he whispered. Aragorn looked back.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Legolas," he replied blithely, barely noticing that the elf had already departed.  
  
Elessar, witnessing this, glared between his younger form, Legolas' retreating figure and the spirit that had brought him there.  
  
"Why do you show me such things?" he cried, pain in his eyes. "Why do you delight in tormenting me so? I had no wish to see that! I do not desire to be reminded of Arwen's betrayal!"  
  
"And what of Legolas?" the spirit urged.  
  
"And what of Legolas?" Elessar shot back. "Bah, humbug! He remains in my palace, reminding me of what I have lost when Arwen left my side in the middle of the night!"  
  
"Are you convinced that they are your feelings for him?" the spirit probed gently.  
  
"Absolutely," Elessar snapped angrily. "And I'm forced to repeat my earlier question. Why are you showing me such things?"  
  
"These are the shadows of what has been. That they are what they are, do not blame me."  
  
Elessar clenched his fists with a dry sob. "Leave me," he all but roared, screwing his eyes shut.  
  
When he opened them again, he was once again in his chambers in Gondor and the spirit was no where in sight.  
  
"Bah Humbug," he hissed, scrubbing fruitlessly at his suddenly moist eyes.  
  
And the clock ticked on . . .  
  
+++++++++++++++++  
  
To be continued.  
  
Padawan AngelinaDaisey Barancristeil 


	4. Present

First of all, thank you all for the wonderful reviews. It's the best feeling for any writer to know they're doing something right.  
  
niphredil87: Wow. Thank you so much, I've never received such a lovely review before, and I have to say yours made me smiley all day. Thank you for sticking with it, even though it's past Christmas now. I have to say I can't take all the credit though. Lest of all forget the books I'm working from, or Rupi, my wonderful Beta who proves that it is indeed possible to change a sows ear into a silk purse . . . I hope you like the rest of the story as much, even though this chapter is really short. Once again, thank you, and God Bless. madkornfan: Soon enough? Sorry it's short! Another chapter on the way in the next few days, this WILL be finished by Twelfth Night. DuckSorceress: Wow, I'm on a favourites list? Brilliant! Lil' ol' me! Thank you! Achika-chan : Thanks!  
  
As always, For Rupi, and my muses, Hallathulëion and Aireannonion.  
  
Chapter 4: Present _+_+_+_+_+_  
  
Hodie Christus natus est:  
  
Hodie Slavator apparuit.  
  
Hodie in terra canunt angeli,  
  
Laetantur archangeli.  
  
Hodie exsultant justi dicentes  
  
Gloria in excelsis Deo.  
  
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!  
  
-Benjamin Britten  
  
_+_+_+_+_+_  
  
Once again, it was the tolling of a bell that awoke Elessar from slumber. Dazed, he fixed his eyes on the bedclothes, contemplating the confusion he felt over not remembering falling asleep. Last thing that he recalled was his angry outburst at Mithrandir. no, not Mithrandir, the spirit. The ghost of Christmas past.  
  
And what confusion that held in itself! What mischief brought this to him? Reminding him of his past, when his life had been happier and free from Arwen's betrayal? What was the entity that reminded him of how he had once felt about Legolas, as a friend, a companion and his yearning for more?  
  
"'Tis but Humbug," he growled to himself as a fleeting dream that he had withheld in his brief sleep. A dream that had been filled with luminous smiles, twinkling laughter and soft, golden hair. A dream of hidden passion . . .  
  
He was broken out of his reverie by hearty laughter and the clink of mugs in a side chamber off his sleeping rooms. A warm glow was visible from under the door, as he pulled himself to his feet and crept towards the mysterious door with all the stealth he could muster. Carefully he wrapped a hand round the handle and reached for the hilt of his sword with the other. At another burst of laughter, he pushed his body against the door and tensed his muscles in readiness.  
  
An exclamation reached his ears just as he was about to burst through the door, making him pause and release his grip on the sword.  
  
"Pippin! I say, if you continue supping as you are there will not be a drop to be had in the whole of Middle-Earth!" The voice was unmistakably familiar, and it prompted Elessar to enter the room in a more stately manner than he had at first planned to. The sight that greeted him was jolly, indeed.  
  
There was a fire burning merrily in the grate, casting a fervent glow over the entire chamber, although the items therein cast a peculiar, if not comforting, light of their own. What lay within were a plentiful selection of the finest fruits of anywhere on Middle-Earth, and several barrels of pungent ale. In the centre of all this sat four figures on rugs Elessar was not aware of owning.  
  
"Strider!" A cheerful voice cried, and Elessar blinked once, hard, to convince himself that he was not going crazy.  
  
But it transpired that Samwise Gamgee was still grinning up at him when his eyes finally re-opened. Groaning, he stared back at the hobbit.  
  
"How have you been, Aragorn?" a gentle voice spoke from behind Sam. Elessar looked round the sturdy hobbit's frame to meet the crystalline eyes of Frodo and he stuttered before answering.  
  
"Frodo? Sam? Merry? Pippin? How are you here in Gondor? It is very confusing to me, I fear I am not in my right mind . . ."  
  
Frodo held up a hand to silence the King.  
  
"You forget what you have been told but this evening, Aragorn," Frodo murmured. "We are not the hobbits you knew, we merely take their form for this: your second lesson. The hour is three." Aragorn passed a look over Sam and Merry's earnest faces.  
  
Looking up from where his nose was buried in the bottom of a tankard, Pippin nodded fervently. "'Tis true. We," he paused for dramatic effect, "are the ghost of Christmas present."  
  
"'Tis true, then. I have utterly lost my mind," Elessar groaned to himself. "I dream of Hobbits."  
  
"Ah, no!" Merry cried. "Not a dream. It is the morning before the dawn preceding the day of Christmas! Can you honestly not say that it is a day that fills your heart with its joy?" Elessar looked at the Hobbit's earnest face and fell solemn, all traces of any brief merriment gone instantly.  
  
"I feel not the joys," he answered honestly.  
  
"Then we must show you, Strider!" Sam enthused, and within brief moments, Elessar, again, was no longer in his side chambers. The scene was serene, white as the pale skin of a certain wood elf in the milky dawn sun over the snow that dusted everything.  
  
"Where are we?" Elessar questioned, bemused.  
  
"We are in the streets of Gondor, Aragorn," Frodo smiled. "And 'tis Christmas!"  
  
"The hour is three, how can it be light?" Elessar murmured, noticing figures running down the street towards them, arms laden with gifts wrapped in bright paper.  
  
"We show you today as it will be," Pippin grinned, watching the children with the presents. They, closely followed by their parents who smiled and laughed at the children's antics, strolled past without noticing the four hobbits and the king.  
  
"I recognise that man!" Elessar breathed. "He is one of my accountants!" Something occurred to him then and he exhaled, turning to his left to look at Frodo. "I pay him so little, but yet he is happy and he manages to give gifts to his family. I do not understand."  
  
"He has saved the entire year, putting away all he can spare so that his family may have a merry Christmas," the Hobbit replied, a smile on his face.  
  
"Christmas means that much to him?" Elessar asked, shocked.  
  
"And to everyone else." The family passed on and disappeared round a corner, their joyous laughter ringing around the square long after their departure. Elessar stared after them, a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
"Let us see someone else on this beautiful Christmas morning!" Pippin cried, gesturing wildly about him, ale from his mug sloshing into the air. As he spoke the scene changed yet again, to a place where Elessar did not recognise anything. It was a small dwelling with a red door and very few small windows of a dingy glass. A cheerful sound came from within, and the Hobbits moved forward together, passing through the front wall of the house like it was made of nothing. Elessar followed cautiously, stretching his hand out in front of him to make sure it was possible to pass through the wall, also. Finding it so, he passed in as well.  
  
+_+_+_+_+_+  
  
To be continued.  
  
Padawan AngelinaDaisey Barancristeil 


End file.
